To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click here
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| Self-portrait on a happy and creative occasion |
Child
Child,
you are not who you are,
But
like a barn-door painted thrice too oft,
Over-varnished,
re-cut to fit the loft,
Then
hammered, wrought,
Re-scratched,
re-painted,
Till
the wood is malleably soft.
Parents,
peers, professors of unlearning
And
unsound advice - unheed them all.
Coffin-makers
of the soul,
Carpenters
of conscience
Exercising
strict control - all
Must
be stripped away:
Layer
upon layer of learned existence.
Now
you must remove the nails,
Immerse
your soul in acid,
Let
out the sap, the grume, the cruor,
Galvanise
the gonads,
Stir
up the sanies,
Quicken
the haemads,
Manumit
the grains of being
That
the human godling may be carved
Out
of the scrap.
Then
chisel, cut by ever-deepening cut,
Slough
with the plane each new-grown skin,
Render
bone naked, member nude,
Buttress
the broken heart in barbicans of flesh.
He
who you would be will be,
The
hand-cast Golem, self-made Adam,
Self-invigorated,
self-inspirited,
Born
of the virgin footsteps,
Risen
like a phoenix from its wounds.
"Child" is published in "Welcome To My World, Selected Poems 1973-2013", The Argaman Press. Click here to purchase the book.
You can find David Prashker at:
Copyright © 2014 David Prashker
All rights reserved
The Argaman Press
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